Where Svinik Breathes the Cold

“Don’t call it broken…” Wide land… no sound… Snow falls… no crown… No war… no flame… Still not… the same… The roads… remain… The king… still reigns… But far from stone… They walk… alone… Cold wind… remembers… No story… ever told… No blade… no falling sky… Just distance… growing wide… Where Svinik keeps the line… Between the old… and time… You feel it… but don’t know… The place you lost… your home… The south… will trade… With silver tongues… they stay… A thousand eyes… pass through… But none… belong… to you… The north… won’t bend… They wait… they watch… they end… No oath… no cry… no war… Just silence… at the door… Cold wind… remembers… No one left… No one came… No line crossed… No one to blame… “Not broken…” “Just… gone…” It never… takes control… No fire… no last stand… It slips… between your hands… Where Svinik draws the line… No end… no clear decline… You turn… and understand… It’s gone… but still… it stands… Cold wind… remembers… Ah—ah—ah…